


Around the world in 300+ years

by Kechk



Category: Korean Drama, 쓸쓸하고 찬란하神 - 도깨비 | Goblin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Really minor discussions of the concentration camps and other grim historical periods, Yeo-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kechk/pseuds/Kechk
Summary: The grim reaper and his 300+ years of brewing tea and sending deceased souls.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short one shot about Wang Yeo, his past, present and future. Kind of a companion fic to my multi-chap one that is plotty. Wrote this in a single seating. Might have errors.

 

The first time he sent a soul away as grim reaper he was nervous and fidgety. He had brewed the old lady a few cups of regular tea, even chatted with her to share her hopes for her grandchildren. He’d even promised her he’d check on them for her.

She’d smiled and said he was a very kind young man. All she got in response was confusion and surprise. She’d told him, “Young man, please stay kind.”

He wasn’t too sure what exactly kindness meant, he’d been systematic in his gestures. There was nothing in his memories to help him define what it meant. He’d just felt it’d be appropriate to get to know the deceased before they passed on into the afterlife.

 

* * *

 

He’d checked up on the old lady’s grandchildren’s grandchildren later.

 

* * *

 

After the five decades, he’d thought he’d gotten the gist of human emotions. His first office had been in Korea. He had no idea why he was placed here. The other reapers gossiped that the first office any reaper was assigned to was their place of death.

It sparked curiosity in him. Who was he?

He’d asked the other reapers in the region. They’d told him to put it to rest, that they were terrible sinners in the past and that not knowing was a blessing.

In the midst of the Joseon period, he’d brewed many different amnesiac teas. He’d experimented a little. The local humans had been exploring different farming methods, influenced by contact with the West. There was more rice, barley, buckwheat and ginseng.

He’d roamed around the increasing number of farms, pondering what history he had with land filled with so many plantations.

 

* * *

 

Reaching his 74th year in office, he was given the opportunity to take office in Japan. Protocols and laws were slightly different but the tea and the souls were the same.

He’d stayed there long enough to witness the daimyos invest in woodblock prints, Kabuki theaters and other crafts only to go into terrible debt.

They’d become unnecessary in a modernising Japan. He was witnessing the final moments of the Tokugawa Shogunate. The feudalistic government could no longer isolate Japan from the world.

With the Meiji restoration he saw the Japanese grow eager with exploring the world beyond their boundaries. Many were sent overseas to study, foreign experts were employed to teach modern science and technology.

He’d been intrigued by the mathematics this era brought him, had even asked for an extension to his stay in this office.

He had several chats with a few intelligent dead mathematicians and scientists. They’d lamented on being unable to continue sharing their work and new knowledge but at least they had the ears of an eager grim reaper.

He’d even been able to send off the Meiji emperor.

What came after was not as fun.

Following the emperor’s death, General Nogi Maresuke and his wife had committed ritual suicide. _Seppuku._ As the reaper, he’d seen their disemboweled bodies bowing to a portrait of the late emperor.

“I vowed to remain alive as long as he did. I will follow my lord into death.”

After serving them their tea. He’d run into his bathroom and vomited. The bile tasted bitter on his lips. He felt phantom sensations of his lungs hyperventilating and his heart palpitating. Cold sweat dripping down hot skin. There was sharp pain in his heart and he’d thought of the many poisoned shoguns and daimyos and officials last moments-

Following this, Japan’s suicide rates skyrocketed, those born in the Meiji period felt distinctly out of place in the rapidly moderning Japan. The Taisho period came and endangered the traditions, cultures and values their Meiji predecessors cherished and lived by.  

The grim reaper had never slept well in his time as a reaper but that period had been one of unexplained melancholy and insomnia.

 

* * *

 

In 1939 he was given a reaper’s passport. He was to travel to the various regions with no stationed tea shop. He’d made round trips to Japan, Germany, America, China, the United Kingdom and so on.

He’d led many, many, many dead souls in that time.

There were soldiers, fathers mothers, children. He’d had some trouble finding the souls as some were so tormented in their mortal life they fled the scene of their death.

There were humans, raped, beaten, tortured, corralled into camps.

He wasn’t sure of his own ethnicity when he’d been alive but he’d met many others who were surer as to where they came from.

He’d met a few who’d told him what they knew of their past selves because of tattoos they’d gotten when they were alive. One of them had racist tattoos.

“I must have been punished for hating and doing something bad to those people.”

He wondered what sin he had committed all those years ago.

 

* * *

 

Wars were terrible, reaper’s rarely slept with the number of assignments they had.

He had less time to talk and comfort the deceased before he brought them their tea. He hadn’t been able to speak to some of them as he’d been to busy to pick up the languages the spoke.

Sometimes, when he had time to spare, he’d draw with an ink brush to communicate with them.

 

* * *

 

Wartime allowed no comfort for the reapers. Many were dispatched to the scene to send off the batches of souls from the concentration camps. 

What haunted him had been the children. Bald, bloody and bruised. Their emaciated bodies shoved in too tight rooms.

When he slept in crowded tea shops, he’d see his own reflection in the terrified black orbs in his dreams.

He’d never forget the camps.

 

* * *

 

By the 80s, he’d been assigned to a permanent tea house in South Korea and returned to more plebian causes of death:

Accidents, heart disease, cancer.

He’d been relieved.

 

* * *

 

The occasional case would still trouble him with phantom pains in his bones and lungs.

These would often be triggered by deceased children from abusive homes, foster cares and orphanages.

Cause of death: Head trauma or internal bleeding from abuse.

Those cases made him lightheaded and more exhausted than ever.

 

* * *

 

Once he’d sent off a drug addict of an artist.

The artist had been proud of his traditional brushwork in his sober moments, amidst the periods of getting high and collapsing in his studio. An estranged wife and kids.

When the reaper had spoken to him he’d offered to draw him a portrait as a trade for better ‘afterlife deals.’ The artist’s pupils were dilated and his hands shook.

He’d asked for a girl in a Hanbok.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes he’d greet less savoury characters. The burly man before him had be an alcoholic and child abuser.

Cause of death: Kidney failure.

He’d been far too stubborn for treatment despite his doctor’s suggestion for dialysis. Too expensive, he’d said. There were empty bottles stacked high and low in his unkempt house.

His wife had left him, from what the reaper saw in the old wedding photographs. He’d taken his frustrations out by drinking then.

When the reaper stood by the man’s body to collect his spirit, his gaze was caught by the trembling figure hiding within the living room cabinet.

The boy, about four years old, had a broken wrist he cradled and red streaks that criss crossed his back. He was sobbing soundlessly.

The reaper never accepted an assignment in that street again.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t always so grim in the tea shop.

Once there’d been a little girl with her dog. She’d made fun of his hat.

Even asked if her dog could wear it into the afterlife.

He humoured her and lent his hat to the dog- Carrot.

_Who names a dog Carrot?_

He sent the hat to the dry cleaners twice that day in fear of ghostly dog hair.

 

* * *

 

Now, he’d saved enough cash to stay in this luxurious house.

It was filled with famous paintings and expensive pottery.

 _Ah, an original Pollock._ He’d sent an art student who spoke of him passionately.

The house would have been perfect had it not contained the infamous Goblin.

 

* * *

 

_Who was she?_

The sight of her brought tears to his eyes.

He only stopped when they blurred his vision and distorted her beautiful features.

 

* * *

 

He was thankful for the goblin bride and the goblin’s nephew. They’d given him lessons on how to search on Google.

He’d typed into the google searchbar: Girl in a Hanbok

That night, he spent 3 hours browsing the 435,000 results.

 

* * *

 

When the audit team were found seated in his tea shop, he knew he was in trouble.

He didn’t know what the punishment was until later.

 

* * *

 

A colleague had once told him of her assignments during the Spanish empire’s expansion. She’d spoken about Spanish conquistadors and a woman named Doña Marina.

She’d betrayed her people to them.

He wondered if she felt just like he did.

_Absolutely wretched._

 

* * *

 

When he’d gotten his memory back he’d cried and cried and cried.

He had all the pieces now. His time as a jealous king and also as a lonely child.

He found himself in the street he’d reassigned to his subordinates.

With his hat on, he’d surveyed the decrepit house and the quiet, peaceful neighbourhood.

“The Lee family had always been troubled, his father was notorious for yelling when he was drunk. He was always drunk.” he was told by a neighbouring old man.

“I kept in contact with him whilst he was placed in foster care. He’s now a TV host on a popular programme, his own of course. Come in, come in, I’ll show you.”

The reaper-Wang Yeo, had not expected warm cocoa and a generous helping of cookies.

“I have a sweet tooth. Anyway, I kept a few recordings on my phone.”

The old man struggled with reading the text on his Samsung.

“Let me help.” Though he was an amateur, at least he wasn’t long sighted.

“This was when he’d first started out, he’d given me a call because he was so nervous. He was just assisting the main host then. Look at him now!” The old man shared a proud toothless grin that made his own lips tug into a smile.

The old man droned on excitedly about the Mr Lee’s successful career. “It was his dream since he was a child.”

Yeo let his voice soothe his memory of fear and pain and disappointment. 

Yet his heart panged in longing for even a semblance of such unconditional affection in his past.

 

* * *

 

Up on the building rooftop, he’d stared at the ghostly apparition. Now with name and memory.

There was fear, anger, disappointment, sadness all at once.

_Father._

But the demon in Missing Soul’s body was closing in on the Goblin and he’d yelled-

_“Park Joong Heon!”_

 

* * *

 

The Goblin was gone. Along with the memories of his bride.

The house was empty.

He felt whatever remained of his heart whine pathetically.

Those years were dark.

 

* * *

 

On Kim Shin's now empty table there was a note of apology. It also wished him peace in the afterlife.

It was signed:

Your friend,

Wang Yeo.

 

* * *

 

 

He's never told anyone of this, but he'd set up a stack of rocks in the compounds backyard.

He'd mumbled apologies and well wishes too.

"Sorry about the pathetic grave stone. Kim Shin would just flip if I did anything for you inside. 

Every week he'd visit the man who'd raised him into a traitorous king. 

 

* * *

 

Now the process of bringing souls their tea did not bring the warmth of familiarity.

With every cup he brewed, his composure waned.

How long more do I need to stay like this?

 

* * *

 

 

He was thankful that there was at least a reaper community to keep him company.

When the news of his suspension had spread, his colleagues had cornered him with queries about it.

In the end, they were all human, and none could deny they were curious about the deviations from their 'normal'. 

What was a reaper in his previous life?

He'd spared them the answer.

 

* * *

 

 

One night, after sending off souls from a bus crash-

_38 people. 4 teachers, 1 bus driver and 33 primary school students._

They were on the way to the science museum.

His division had gathered to have barbeque and cheap soju and beer. 

It was an unspoken agreement to not discuss how their assignments wore them down. It'd do no good, there was another soul to deliver, another man, woman, child, lover, parent, friend.

Reapers, contrary to popular opinion, could get drunk. They had superhuman abilities, not superhuman metabolism. 

On occasion, they'd reach that point together. 

When one of the seniors spoke about how a pity it was for some young king in ancient Goryeo to not have seen his caregiver's deceit, his general's hand extended in servitude and his wife's tears when she'd been killed-

He'd asked her, with the stench of alcohol on his breath-

_Was she happy, when she was alive?_

His senior, despite the alcohol, had clear, bright eyes. She'd told him the queen had wept when she was in the tea house. But she'd told her she had been so happy to meet her husband, before everything crashed and burned and fell into ruin-

That night, the other reapers bad held him in a shared bedroom as he'd cried.

 

* * *

 

At his lowest point, he'd donned his hat and watched as Sunny run her restaurant with the self-confidence of a Titan and efficiency of a machine. 

She was so strong, her self assurance and surety in everything she did.

He'd seen her meeting new men and women, going on dates and dinners, finding and keeping new things to live for. 

He'd been her weakness when they had been together and that was why nothing worked out in the past life and even the current.

Despite the full beat of his wounded heart, he'd been inspired.

He would try, try to be as strong as her.

 

* * *

 

 

For Kim Shin, he'd tried to atone for all the thing's he'd done to him. 

He was gone but his bride remained. 

Eun Tak had been a curious figure in his life. Unlike the goblin and his sister, she'd had little reason to come into his lifetime as a reaper. What missing soul looked out for the grim reaper?

Then he'd realised Missing soul, subcategory J, # 2784, had become  _his_ Missing soul some time ago.

So he'd visited her, another friend who he couldn't contact.

 

* * *

 

The were instances when he'd remember of how he'd killed himself, and the dark thoughts that he'd been plagued with post-execution.

He'd heard rumours of a reaper in China that had tried to kill himself. An escape from the job. He'd flung himself off a 20 storey building and landed in a painful splat. Only to find himself the way he was before seated before the internal audit team.

He contemplated about whether reapers could commit suicide the same way humans could. He wouldn't experiment, not after Kim Shin's disappointment and Kim Sun's pity

Hearing the other reaper's stint, however, made him even firmer with his decision.

 

* * *

 

 

Meeting souls that starved themselves to death, cut and bled themselves to death and overdosed, he'd thought hard about the Gods meddling and dispensure of punishment.

What gave them the right to punish the people who'd believed their life was their own?

He'd felt as sick as he did when his father had convinced him to execute one of his ministers

 

* * *

 

 

A boy, about the same age as when he'd been given the throne, a teenager, had told him how they couldn't take it anymore.

The taunts and bullying. Yeo empathised, he had phantom bruises too.

The boy had told him about how he'd tried to hold onto life, how the blade became a way to cope.

He hadn't wanted it to be his end, initially. 

The reaper has muttered consolations, sorrys and given him an awkward embrace before sending him to a different apartment.

He visited his grave often, filled with flowers from the people he'd abandoned without ever knowing they'd loved him. They'd whispered wishes for him to rest in peace 

He knew what department he'd been sent to. He'd never been so angry at the gods but he'd felt this helplessness before. 

It was an old friend.

 

* * *

 

 

Once, he'd visited the national museum of history. He'd joined a tour with a bunch of foreign tourists.

The guide had spoken of Wang Yeo's reign in clinical manner, professional.

She'd spoken about the after too.

How after the king's suicide the wars came back and the internal stability of the kingdom's political sphere had collapsed and barely recollected itself.

Most of the people he'd known in that life had died in battle or been murdered in the civil unrest.

The tourists had asked him what was wrong in Spanish when he'd started weeping when the guide spoke about a king who was too young.

 

* * *

 

“Still wearing that hideous hat?”

 

* * *

 

There was still no solution to the Goblin’s immortality and his bride’s mortality.

But the bride had her memory back and he was attending their small engagement party.

The house was less empty now.

 

* * *

 

 

His years as the reaper could help in finding a cure for Kim Shin and Eun Tak.

Until then, he’d drink and bask in the warmth of their presence.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! My headcanons for Wang Yeo kill me.  
> Poor boy.


End file.
